Ideals
by Vara
Summary: COMPLETE A young man begins a new life, by killing his dreams. Started as a one shot, now a string of connected and short POV pieces. NOT SLASH
1. How could I not?

**Title:** Ideals

**Genre:** Drama/Angst

**Dedicated to:** Any Ginny fans who happen upon this fic. I really don't favour Ginny in general; she's too young to pair, reasonably, with Snape and he's my fav char, but this needed to be written. shrug

**Rating:** PG-13. There is one cuss word but it's not one of '_the really bad ones'_.

**Disclaimer:** I'm not J. K. Rowling. I don't make money from her work.

**Authoress's note:** This is a One Shot POV-thingy, I think. Well…that's what I was aiming for at least. I hate first person narrative so I really can't explain why this 'needed to be written.'

* * *

"How could you!" Ginny screamed, before slamming the door.

How could I what? I want to demand of her, but don't. Instead I go back down the stairs. Even if I had asked, she wouldn't have been able to give me an answer. Because she doesn't know what it was I really did just now.

On the sidewalk I head for the train station. I really do have a pair of tickets after all. Really made reservations at that resort in Atlantis and even arranged for a table at that restaurant _The Harpy's Table_. Had to, the cover story wouldn't have held up if I hadn't. The next item on the list is to get a refund on the tickets by throwing around my well-known clout and respected or feared (depending upon which side you owe your allegiance to) family name.

I wonder if this is the sort of thing Prof- Severus goes through.

Damn, I have to remember to call him Severus…

How does he deal with it? I know he drinks, but that's to keep up his tolerance. At least, I've never seen him drunk. Does he even know which side he is working for anymore? I hope he does! …I hope his side wins…he deserves that much. At the meetings I sometimes watch him and wonder; is that how I'll end too? Will I just be hanging onto what they say and what I remember of the truth and my ideals?

Sure I joined back while I was still a student, like Severus, but he's been doing this most of his life, over thirty years, while this is my first 'real' assignment. But, when did I really decide to do this- to accept this position? When did I decide to become whatever was asked of me? 'For the greater good,' as Albus likes to say.

Walking into the station I don't look at anyone, I look through them. Pretending I'm alone. That's easy to do, been doing it all my life. The hard part is to not care that they are looking through me too. Seeing my father and mother, and my reputation, instead of me. But then, it's always been that way too.

Some people are staring and poking at each other, whispering to each other, making sure it's really me. I still find them pathetic followers, but now they are useful pathetic followers. With barely a glance, not even turning my head, I could cause them to go into a frenzy getting the attention of everyone in the station. Which can be useful, sometimes. But not today.

Today I am supposed to have just broken off my engagement to the girl I had been with since we had gone to Hogwarts together. Today I need to be even more aloof than normal.

I suppose that if she knew why I was really doing this, she would have reacted differently. She might have even understood that it was for her that I was doing this.

_Severus_ made sure that I would understand the consequences of being 'involved' while being 'active'. The two don't go together. That's all there is to it. And he's right.

Because of my family name, because of my social status, because every bleeding Wizard on this bleeding island knows who I am by sight, because of a thousand things, I have to join the fight.

In the private sector I will be able to move through the ranks of whatever job I am ordered to take. I still don't understand how the Order could be so well placed that I won't have to earn the job. I won't even have to be qualified!

With this job, whatever it will be, I'll be able to maintain a public image. I'll be able to work in the background because there will be enough in the foreground to hide my actions.

Getting the tickets refunded is easy enough, within the hour the story will hit the papers; I'm available again. Oh joy! I'm too important to commit suicide. Severus made sure I understood that one too. I wonder if he would mind company for a few drinks…

Back out in the sunlight I look both ways before crossing the street. It's not to check for traffic, it's to make sure I am being watched by people.

How could I!

Ginny, the only reason I could leave you…is to protect you.

That's why I joined the Order and why I 'let popularity go to my head'. It's why I am 'breaking your heart' and it's why I have become a 'cold, caricature of a human'. So that someday, your children will be safe. Even if they can't be ours.


	2. I admit it!

**Title:** Ideals (a few months later)

**Genre:** Drama/Angst

**Dedicated to: **Krummi, who told me about a rather obvious typo that I missedcompletely.

**Rating:** PG-13.

**Disclaimer:** I claim the ideas and details that I brought to the party. The rest is somebody else's responsibility.

**Authoress's note:** This started off as a One-Shot thingy…but then I got these really nice reviews…and then I dragged my feet about it…and then, well…I feel like I have more to offer. Ok, this time it's a little longer. Just over one thousand words, according to MS Word. I think there is a format for these One-Shot POV things, a thousand words or something, but this really isn't my forte so, I'm trying, but, shrug.

* * *

Severus told me this would happen… 

At some recent point in time, someone made a joke. And now we're all laughing…but I can't remember what I am supposed to be laughing about.

I. Lost. My. Focus.

The obvious answer is that the joke was made at the expense of someone from The Order- or the Ministry. In smaller groups, those who aren't present are usually targeted. With a group of this size, though, that would be dangerous; you can never be sure who is allied with whom.

They're still laughing. If I can't come up with an appropriate response before the laughter dies, then I will miss the chance to steal the spotlight. Which would mean a missed opportunity to assert myself over the whole lot of them.

None of my worry shows, of course. My inner thoughts are separate from the emotions that should accompany them. Later, when I am safe…

When I am safe I will feel all of the panic and fear that this lapse in attention generated. Right now I allow a slight, knife's edge of a smile to barely register on my face, while I stare into my brandy as though I were utterly bored.

Of course, when Severus told me that this would happen I paid attention. He has been a spy longer than I have been alive. So I followed his advice and made sure to comprise my 'inner circle' of just the right sort of people; a few who want as many table-scraps as they can get, a few who think they could rise above me, and one lowly toady who will repeat anything that others are laughing at or getting approval for.

I owe my getting through this 'friendly get-together' to that little boot-licker and his lack of originality.

As soon as the boldest of the other guests begin to make their elaborate departure manoeuvres, I announce that I am leaving and out manoeuvre them all. It also reinforces the fact that Power and Money give me status enough so I don't need to participate in their games.

Apparating to the small club where I have a late dinner reservation, for two, I begin my second task of the night.

She and I attended school together. And I still remember hearing a rumour that she had a crush on me when we were in sixth year. Could that have really only been two years ago… But its not safe to feel sickened at being ordered to use someone I remember as a 'teacher's pet', and I can't afford to feel used myself, even though the 'champion of the downtrodden' (as his own propaganda refers to him) has decided that my social status, intelligence and body are just tools for his cause.

We have a pleasant meal, with subdued tension. As we are leaving a minor spat is started and I leave her on the curb in front of the doorman and Blaise Zabini, who happened to also be exiting at that moment. She is now in the strategic position of being available for consolation from the man she has been ordered to gather information on. And because Blaise and I are rivals for the same position within The Brotherhood, he will try to keep her around so that he can gather information on me…

Did I really trade Ginny's love, for this? But I shut the emotions away before I can do more than think the question rhetorically. I'm not safe here.

I can hear Blaise offer her a drink before I am far enough away to have made a point of needing to walk a bit before disapparating. After all, I am supposed to be angry enough to break up with her tomorrow.

My own estate is warded against people apparating in on me, so the closest I can get is the front gate. I enter and ignore the grovelling House Elves that I pass as I make my way to my bedchamber. But I am not safe yet. I cannot allow my bitterness, anger, and weariness to catch up with me here. This place is all a part of the show. I bought it under the direction of The Order as soon as I had graduated; something immodestly large for a bachelor yet imposing and unwelcoming enough for the brooding, aloof persona that I have been assigned by Them. Fortunately, hiding my emotions at home is easy; I've done it all my life.

I wanted to escape the people who had tormented me as a child and I suppose that is at least a part of my motivation for joining the fight. I have the safety of familiar things like being used and abused by people who say they care about me, while covertly working against them, which I could never do as a child. But, if am to be really honest, there is another motivation even darker than my childhood angst.

Tossing a bit of floo powder into the fireplace I whisper a name.

Stepping into my fireplace and out of his, I am finally safe.

Severus greets me as he usually does; silently offering a glass of whisky and making eye contact before allowing me to decompress, at my own rate.

I swirl the gold-tinged liquid and watch it climb the side of my glass. He doesn't stare and he doesn't ask. Sometimes we don't speak at all, sometimes it's small talk and sometimes it's more. He knows what it's like trying to process dangerous emotions- hell he taught me how to survive it!

There is nothing sexual between us. I think I could have accepted _that_ easier. It's the sort of thing I would have expected a Spy Master to use to control his Agents. But what he provides for me is something I am ashamed to discover that I needed.

And as the shame and fear and panic finally begin to seep out of me he takes the glass from my hand –I'm shaking– and he sets it aside.

I can't tell what is upsetting me so much; I didn't betray anyone today and I didn't have to watch anyone being tortured while pretending that I find it amusing. But I'm clinging to his robe like it's my sanity I'm holding onto. Begging him to tell me I'm still doing the right thing. He strokes my back and whispers things I can't hear over the throbbing in my head.

Am I just manipulatively crying to get this? Or am I crying because he has freed me to? Why did I have to hide this need for so long from everyone, from Ginny, even from myself? It's so simple, such a trivial thing. When I hurt, he gives me comfort.


	3. Is it possible to betray an enemy?

**Title:** Ideals

**Genre:** Drama/Angst

**Dedicated to:** LushBaby

**Rating:** PG-13.

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own the HP universe, and I'm still not making any money from this story. The plot and interpretations of the characters are mine, but that's not so much as it sounds.

**Authoress's note:** Haven't got anything to say except that I am enjoying this story even though I haven't been working on it frequently enough to keep me happy. I mean, I'd be upset if I were reading this story and there were these huge gaps between postings. So I apologise to any and all readers who got annoyed with me.

* * *

It is two o'clock; early enough in the afternoon that leaving my office will be in character.

I announce to my secretary that I am not going to be available until next week and make a show of ignoring the fact that she is ogling me, which encourages her to look me over even more thoroughly; vanity is supposed to be one of my most endearing qualities, according to _Witchy Weekly_.

As I exit the building I ignore the respectful greetings which are offered by people with decades more seniority than myself. At twenty-one I have a very enviable position in a rather obscure branch of the Office of the Regulation of Educational Accessory Expenditure, which is rather obscure itself. I'm not really sure what the department does, but my position gives me an excuse to occasionally meet with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I use these meetings as an excuse to drop in on my former Potions instructor; a lot of information is exchanged in those short visits.

How does Severus do it?

It is a difficult thing; balancing two opposing sets of interests. I know, from my own experience. Being present for too many meetings of The Brotherhood makes The Dark Lord uneasy because he counts on me being above suspicion to the Ministry. But, if I miss too many gatherings then The Order doesn't get the information that they need and Albus may begin to wonder if I am hiding things from him.

The only point of contact that I have to count on, for either side, is Severus. And he serves both sides credibly enough that _no one_ questions his loyalty.

I'm still new enough as a covert operative that no one trusts me, yet. But after three decades Severus is beyond suspicion. Which is why he was the first person I thought of when I noticed the, irregularities.

I enter the intimately lit café and do not need to give my name to the maître d'. With a nod I acknowledge a few influential members of the Ministry, and even stop to exchange greetings, strategically, as I am led to my seat. Being young, very wealthy, and attractive makes me a much sought after acquaintance and everyone I can greet by name feels that honour.

Chablis and lightly seasoned scallops provide something for my hands to do while I review things, but I don't even taste the food.

I'm a fairly low level agent for both sides. I'm new and the assignments that I receive aren't really all that important. I am told to gather information about a certain suspected Death Eater for the Order and then told by The Brotherhood to gather information on a suspected member of the Order. But lately I have been given somewhat higher priority assignments.

I lured someone who had cover as a member of the Ministry into a dinner meeting so that he could be abducted as he left. He was supposedly a member of the Order. The team from The Brotherhood were ambushed by Aurors. The man all of the fuss had been about, I happen to know, was working for Severus. Though, I'm not sure which side. I've turned in reports that were ignored, made contact with people who were then victims of violent crime…according to _the Daily Prophet_. And at least once a team of Aurors was caught off guard because they apparently didn't get the warning that I had sent, hours in advance.

I've finished my meal and still I have only established that there are foul-ups in the handling of information that I am reporting. Dropping my linen napkin on the remainder of a rather good breaded veal I leave the maitre d' to charge my account.

I disappareate while stepping out into the afternoon sun, but someone snaps a picture of me anyway. Soon some magazine will be featuring a picture of me exiting the café, alone- what an exclusive!

Slowly meandering up my front walk I come to a decision. Everything I do and say, every thing I wear and eat, is all a part of my cover. It is this other person I have created, this other version of me that can't even consider what it is I am thinking. The real me is only safe in one place and I have to go there before I can really think for myself.

Severus is a known spy and both The Order and The Brotherhood rely on him to head all of their covert operations. Both sides believe him to be utterly loyal to them and both sides believe him to be only a minor operative for the opposing side. He handles everything I bring back no matter who has given me my orders, and it is Severus who tells me which side gave me those orders to begin with. Then he goes back and personally meets with Voldemort or Dumbledore to tell them what I have told him…

Severus is really the only one implicated in this. He is betraying someone. But, who? And, more importantly…what am I to do…?


	4. I am NOT caught in the middle!

**Title:** Ideals

**Genre:** Drama/Angst

**Dedicated to: **Froggy, for finding "The Spot"

**Rating:** PG-13.

**Disclaimer:** I just own a bunch of ideas and because I'm cobbling some of them together with the fruits of someone else's imagination I can't make money off of this bit of blithering.

**Authoress's note: **Last chapter.

-Thank you so much Froggy, I had the idea but couldn't figure out where to put it. Your suggestion of 'twisting the knife a bit' (my words not hers) at _that point_ turned out to be exactly where my idea needed to go.

* * *

Severus wasn't expecting me tonight. As I continue to not talk and stare into the traditional shallow glass of whisky he glances over occasionally, as though he were concerned.

It seems strange, assigning an aspect of basic human compassion to the Head of Slytherin House. But then why?

A puff of air that isn't really a laugh escapes me.

I'm here to decide who I'm going to betray and I'm side tracked on the feelings of the man whose legacy will be several generations of Wizards and Witches who order out for dinner because cooking at home reminds them too much of his Potions classes. Can't help chuckling at that image.

Severus looks decidedly concerned now and he is not bothering to hide the fact that he is watching me. His eyes are only half open but they are focused on me taking in everything that I'm doing, or not doing. His brows are drawn together slightly. He is holding himself 'casually-tense'; I know because even though there is no visible rigidity to his form I can no longer tell when he is breathing in or out. He taught me to keep a similar posture so that I can be ready to kill or run without warning.

I wonder what I would have thought, if I had seen this expression on his face when I was a student. Probably would have assumed that someone had earned a painful death from mishandling some ingredient, or that a Vampire Lord was telepathically speaking to him. It's not just Gryffindor House that thinks he is at least half Vampire, the whole school does. Even some of the staff, at least, that's how the rumour goes.

Severus isn't half or even part Vampire, he is just very good at controlling his body. It's something he has been working on since he was a child spy. He can even _nearly_ stop his own heart, which scared me spitless when he 'played dead' during one of the few skirmishes I've been in.

I can't remember which side I was on, let alone which side he was on, it was definitely night though and I remember seeing him take a hit and trying to convince myself that it hadn't been as on target as it seemed.

But then he'd gone down, and hadn't moved.

The Witches and Wizards from the Order were checking the field for survivors after the Death Eaters had made a 'strategic retreat' and I hid in something that was designed to have little children climb on it and not kill themselves if they fell off, because I couldn't afford to have people from both sides realise that I was hanging around still...but I couldn't leave either.

Someone checked his throat for a pulse. Then moved on.

Invisibility cloaks are great things; I've gone through three of them so far. Nice and light and easy enough to pack out of sight when you've done what you needed it for. Though, if someone is looking for you while you're using one there are ways to…detect, them. Nasty painful ways. Ways that most members of the Order -or even most Aurors- wouldn't use, so I slipped back onto the battle field/children's play park and 'stole' Severus' body.

I checked his throat, both sides. I checked his right wrist and his left and put my ear against his chest. I just knelt there, with my head on his chest, on the floor of an abandoned tube station we used as a safe-house and didn't move because I couldn't remember how to. There was no reason to move. Without him I had nothing, no one to trust or tell me which side I was on. No one to let me cry or scream or laugh just because I could. So I stayed. That's the only reason I knew he wasn't dead. His heart was beating so slowly that I had missed it before. Thankfully, so had the Orderling.

I can remember how unwilling I was to believe that I was hearing correctly even though his pulse continued getting stronger. He put one hand on my head to hold me tight to his chest so I couldn't miss the beating of his heart and when I finally picked my head up enough to look into his eyes he sort of smiled at me –well it was a smirk, I mean, he is a Slytherin after all.

I'm willing to bet he had played that trick hundreds of times before, fooling whichever side he had to avoid getting caught by at the time. Looking back on it now I wonder, how many times did he wake up alone surrounded by dead bodies that were going to be sorted out after the sun rose?

"If you keep brooding like this," he breaks the silence with a tone that can only be described as an oily purr, "I will have to go back to prefacing your name with 'Mister'."

"Anything but that," I return with a nearly sarcastic groan.

He raises an eyebrow and there is a gleam to his eyes that would have worried me when I was a child. Now, though, I'm not frightened of anything that might be chasing its way through his brain.

When did that happen? When did I stop fearing him, as a threat or as a potential rival, or…at all? When did I begin to read him well enough to really _know_ that he is aware that I'm not just here to loll about and drink his whisky?

I've come to my decision and it is very nearly where I started, funny that.

Licking my lips I lean forward slightly, stand up, put the empty glass on the little table beside the lamp, all are natural easy to overlook signs that are as loud as Guilderoy Lockheart's latest crime against fashion, to the man who trained me to be a spy.

At his feet I kneel (like a Death Eater) but on both knees. My right hand forward (like they do in the Order) but with the tips of my fingers touching the carpet in front of his square toed boots.

"I, never asked for your loyalty…" He says as though he is reminding me –as though he is afraid that I'll turn this around and accuse him of something later.

But he has taught me too well. I know what I am doing. This has never been a matter of choice; it has been a matter of acceptance. The ability to see what is really going on is a spy's most valuable asset. A spy can live or die by reading the situation accurately or allowing appearances to cloud his sight. This war doesn't have two sides; it has three.

"I pledge myself to your service. This I swear above all oaths of loyalty or fealty. Your enemies are mine, those who would do you hard do harm me also and none shall divide us." Fealty? Hell, it's just a bad jumbling of the vows I think Knights used to say and I'm making this up as I go but, fealty? He knows what I mean, even if I am going to be too embarrassed to look him in the eyes ever again.

Totally in keeping with his character Severus doesn't say a thing as he pushes his chair back. He comes to his knees instead of standing up. His hand tentatively rests on the back of my head for a moment then his long skilful fingers twine into my hair. I can't help but think that maybe we're both making this up as we go. I don't resist as he guides my head so that my ear is against his narrow chest. Again.

I hear his heart beating, slow and soft and deceptively calm. One hand presses the side of my head so that I'm very aware that I'm not supposed to move, his other arm hesitantly wraps around my shoulders. A slight tremor goes through his body. His breathing isn't so even any more. His head tilts down and long greasy black hair blots out the world and he might have just been gasping but I think he whispered something like 'Us'. And it hits me, hard.

All this time, thirty years -most of his life- he has been fighting in this three-sided war the same way I was…alone.


End file.
